Succinctly Yours
by kaname's harisen
Summary: On cold winter nights, Elsa kept her window open, and Jack let himself imagine that it was for him. / Drabble collection written for the weekly prompts from the snowtpnetwork on dreamwidth, and each of the drabbles will follow one of three distinct story threads: Hogwarts!AU, Canon-verse, or Modern!AU /
1. Crystal

The prompt for this drabble is _echo_.

 **Rating:** K+  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Genre:** crossover, adventure, Elsa-centric  
 **Story Thread:** Hogwarts!AU

 **. ~ { oOo } ~ .**

Elsa traverses the corridor, wishing someone was here who understood. She's spent the entirety of her schooling isolated – _friendless_ – and now in Seventh Year, she feels the toll it's taken upon her. She clasps trembling hands around her wand, letting that magical conduit reinforce the control she strives maintain.

Today's been difficult. A momentary slip during Potions earlier caused quite the spectacle; she'd botched her assignment and, in her stress, frozen every cauldron in the room. Per usual, she'd been sent to Headmistress Malfoy.

. ~ o ~ .

" _Sharing a body with the fragmented soul of an Ice Elemental cannot be easy," the Headmistress had said, "and you're more than diligent in your efforts at restraint. But, perhaps, that's the problem."_

 _Then the elder woman smiled._

" _There's a corridor on the seventh floor – the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy resides there. Do you know it?" At Elsa's nod, the Headmistress continued, People tend to avoid the area, but I find that it has the right atmosphere for a good think. Try it – walk around, reflect on what you have need of, and I believe you will be pleased with the results."_

. ~ o ~ .

Elsa walks back towards the vase on the other end of the corridor. How many times has she walked this path? She's lost count, but supposes it doesn't matter. While thankful for the Headmistress's kind intentions, the hour is late, this escapade has done little to improve her malaise, and Elsa's ready for the comfort of her own bed. Her footsteps echo against the stone walls as she quickens her pace to leave.

A door materializes to her left, and the sudden addition startles Elsa into taking a step back. Then she remembers the undercurrent in the conversation which brought her here, and thinks maybe this is what the old woman had been leading her towards all along. With a deep breath, Elsa casts a _Lumos_.

The room inside is terrifying at first glance, all grey ash and charred remains. Elsa recollects a tale she once heard about a sentient room of magical artifacts and an incident with Fiendfyre, and thinks that perhaps she's stumbled across just that place. Curiosity overcomes any lingering fear.

In all the wreckage, Elsa spies something peculiar: a large circle on the floor of what appears to be crystal. As the substance glitters in the light of her spell, she bends down to touch it. The circle dissipates, and a thrill of excitement shoots up her spine.

It was _ice_.

Left behind under the ice is a small Seer's ball unlike any Elsa's ever seen, the glass a bright, opaque white. She picks it up and is shocked to see the image of a boy floating about inside. Elsa brings it closer to get a better look, and as her lips graze cold surface, a burst of magic fills the room. Where she'd been holding the ball, now she's grasping the blue cloak of a full-sized person.

"The name's Jack," he says, winking. "Let's have some _fun_."

 **. ~ { oOo } ~ .**


	2. Textile

The prompt for this drabble is _bias_.

 **Rating:** T  
 **Warnings:** profanity  
 **Genre:** angst, Jack-centric  
 **Story Thread:** Canon-verse

 **. ~ { oOo } ~ .**

Needle in hand, Elsa's fingers handled the delicate cloth with quiet precision. Each minute action displayed a kind of thoughtful economy, a graceful balance of well-honed skill and affection – for both the craft and the future recipient of her handiwork. Jack could watch her for hours, even through the monotony of sewing, and never be bored.

She was like him, after a fashion, and even though they'd never properly met – Elsa was an adult by the time he'd discovered her existence, regrettably – he felt like he'd met something of a kindred spirit in her. Like him, there snow in her bones and the ice in her veins, yet her heart burned bright with kindness.

 _(And on cold winter nights, Elsa kept her window open, and Jack let himself imagine that it was for him.)_

She smoothed down a new piece of fabric and, after triple-checking her measurements, she cut two, neat parallel lines on the bias; the burgundy cotton would be trim for Anna's spring cloak. As Elsa moved to the window seat where he was perched and continued her work, Jack studied the elegant lines of her hands.

Dammit, he was jealous of a fucking piece of thread.

 **. ~ { oOo } ~ .**


	3. Textile, part 2

The prompt for this drabble is _silk_.

 **Rating:** K+  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Genre:** general, Elsa-centric  
 **Story Thread:** Canon-verse (part 2)

 **. ~ { oOo } ~ .**

The sleepy darkness of night fell on Arendelle, blanketing the castle in a comfortable, peaceable quiet. Anna and Kristoff and their little ones had gone to bed hours ago, and the servants had followed suit soon after. All was at rest, just as it should be on a late winter's night.

Except for Elsa.

She'd been tossing and turning – _and fighting with her blankets and pillows_ – long enough to witness the fire in her hearth dwindle from crackling flame to embers. Wayward strands of hair clung to her damp skin, on neck and cheek and forehead, and her nightgown felt heavy and stifling. With a sigh and a flick of her wrist, Elsa sent a concentrated flurry to smother out the heat of the coalbed. Then, sweeping aside the curtains and shutters, she opened the window as far as its hinge would allow. Her relief was instantaneous.

The servants meant well, but they just didn't understand the extent to which her form was entwined with that of her powers. In her they saw the innate fragility of humanity, a flesh and bone vessel for an external force, and so they sought to protect her body in the same manner as they would their own. And every night Elsa bore their tokens of kindness for as long as she could before she let the cold back inside.

From her seat at the window, Elsa gazed up at the moon as it waxed full over her kingdom. It shone bright, almost supernaturally so, and the insistent glow had her reaching for the volume of children's stories Anna gifted to her at supper. The hero of each of the tales within was a winter sprite with a penchant for mischief, and so Anna had, with much enthusiasm, declared it to be just the book for Elsa.

Elsa ran her fingers over the cover, tracing the words of the title. "Jack Frost."

A great burst of wind and snow shot through the open window. Elsa gasped at the unexpected gale and the book fell from her hands, thudding soundly on the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, something shifted in her periphery just outside the window. The book now forgotten, Elsa turned to view the anomaly head on. But nothing was there, just the silk of her curtains fluttering soft against the windowpane.

Strange… she'd swear she saw a floating boy.

 **. ~ { oOo } ~ .**


End file.
